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“Look at the seal.”

“I’ve seen hundreds of identity cards,” Andrée says. “Checked them, examined them, looking for forgeries. This would pass. Even under close inspection, this would pass. I was amazed when we received Josie’s one.”

“That’s the idea,” Jaques says. “I don’t make forgeries. I make genuine documents using false information. There’s a difference.”

René picks up another document, a ration card. “And these?”

“Same principle. Official paper, official stamps, official signatures. The only thing false is the person’s identity. But the document itself? Completely authentic. We just have to remember who you give these to so they can be exchanged when the authorities change the color of the card.”

Andrée examines a work exemption certificate. She’s received and dispersed many from René, but he has struggled to keep up with the changes the Germans keep making in their efforts to catch the forgeries. The one she holds now would save a young man from being shipped to Germany.

“Medical exemption. Heart condition. Signed by . . .” She looks up and smiles. “A Doctor Mercier? And of course, the patient doesn’t have a heart condition.”

René smiles.

“In my professional medical opinion, he does. Who’s to question a doctor’s diagnosis? It’s amazing how many young men in Paris are developing serious medical conditions that make them unfit for labor in Germany.”

The civil servant packs the documents back into his briefcase. “I can provide you with twenty identity cards this month. Fifteen ration cards. Ten work exemptions. Next month, more. The system is in place. It just needs to keep running.”

“What do you need from us?” Andrée asks.

“Photographs. Good quality. Clear faces. Neutral expressions. It’s too risky for people to come to the Mairie. I’ll also need basic information: name, birth date, birthplace, height, and hair color. With this information, it’s easy to create an identity profile.”

“We have photographers. So that bit’s easy.”

“Good. Bring me the photographs and information next week. I’ll have the first batch of documents ready the week after.”

Andrée hesitates. “Why are you doing this? You have a good job. A safe position. Why aren’t you just keeping your head down? Why risk everything?”

The man removes his spectacles, polishes them carefully. “Because I see what they’re doing. Every day, I see it. Young men being shipped off. Jews being registered, marked, hunted. Families torn apart. And I sit at my desk, stamping official documents that help them do it. That make it all legal. All bureaucratically correct.”

He puts his spectacles back on.

“I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t fight back. Even in this small way. Even if all I can do is forge papers and steal seals, it’s something. It must be something.”

Andrée nods. She understands completely. “Thank you. You’re saving lives. Every document you create saves a life.”

“Then let’s save as many as we can.”

René walks him to the door, checks the stairs before letting him leave. When he’s gone, he turns to Andrée.

“What did you think?”

“I think the work he’s doing is invaluable. And I think we need to protect him at all costs. If the Germans discover what he’s doing, if the Militia get hold of him . . .”

“I know. We’ll be careful. He knows to destroy everything if there’s any sign of danger, but he has a plan. We all have our plans.”

“Indeed, we do.” She pauses.

“Papa asked if you could visit us tomorrow. He said it’s important. Something he needs to discuss with you.”

René frowns. “Did he say what it’s about?”

“He did not.”

“I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon. Does two o’clock suit you?”

“That’s perfect. Thank you, Doctor René. For everything. For all of this.”